Long Uninterested Poems
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The party is loud,noise in the air
People all around,
I'm sitting down,
Present.......but not really there.
I linger in the back,a watchful eye
In the background,
Invisible
I see many pass me by.
Interest has left,and all feels dull
No one approaches
Or wants to talk,
My introversion makes me mull.
I could be social,and enter the fray
But it's all a group
And shallow talk,
No deep conversations today.
No good friends for discourse;
I know all here
But still feel a stranger;
All too well,I know this remorse.
I try to mingle,but I've lost the heart
They all seem so........
Uninterested;
So from the crowd,I stay apart.
I try distraction,for my mind,
The food is good
But not much else,
Entertainment is hard to find.
Why,I ask,did I even go?
My hypocrisy
Boggles me,
Why I'm like this,I don't know.
Yet here I am,a wallflower;
Unbecoming for a guy,
I think,
As I wait away the hours.
Maybe I'll find someone,someday,
To talk the boredom
Away with,
Until the party fades away...............
Oh look,they finally started volleyball
volleyball is fun.......
That rodent is so odd, his brother told him.
Stay away from her, you might catch it, Jim.
Jim was a reader with his nose forever in a book.
He gave Priscilla a nod but not an interested look.
Priscilla caught his nod and was happy to see.
A bit of attention from one of the Brothers Lee.
Jim Lee was a catch, so she looked uninterested at all.
It was at this moment, Jim decided Priscilla was a doll.
They met in secret, cuddling up with their blanket and books.
The rest of their clans never noticed their secretive looks.
Their wedding was a surprise, but all attended for cheese.
Then they took a group photo where both clans yelled “Please!”
I did not realize I am a waiting room peeping tom princess until today.
When I first arrived, I made a mistake and laughed when an
older lady was yelling into the phone about what a
loser her grandson was for leaving her here without a ride home.
This earned me a stellar glare from screechy wheel-chaired crone.
I pretend I am not observing any of them,
Glance around swiftly once in a while so
They realize I am not a corpse, pretending
To be completely uninterested in what the other six are doing.
I am not noticing any of you at all, I pretend loudly.
A new player, an older gentleman, dressed in long gray shorts, and hairy legs arrives.
Can we help you sir?
I am looking for my….
DADDY!
Twenty-something girl who has had her head down almost between her knees since she arrived
Does not rise, but she puts her hands out, and the man in the red
And white Hawaiian shirt who just entered, races toward his offspring.
There is loud sobbing now, the first interesting thing she has done.
Daddy rudely sits behind a pole, so I can only see head-down girl.
She is beyond being consoled.
He speaks in soothing low tones.
Sometimes all you need is your dad
Sometimes you just want to make a show; hers is quite the little performance.
I start writing down the phone conversation mascara woman is having next to me.
She is ever more interesting.
Not feeling a bit guilty for being the creepy waiting room peeping tom princess that I apparently am.
By the time I met her,
I no longer cared what might occur.
Having grown weary of romance,
I was reluctant to take another chance.
Romantic encounters had left me uninterested.
That is, until that Sunday I was arrested;
Arrested and captured by a beauty in the pew.
There was something about her that was new.
I watched her more than just a time or two
and kept staring at her with a different view.
I was hesitant at making a move right away;
But I could not shake what I felt that Sunday.
In a college town on a street called Dewey avenue,
my interest in her did not deminish, but rather, it grew.
50 plus years have come and gone since I ringed her finger.
I am sometimes amazed at what just one look can engender.
012324PS
In the process of
Knowing you
He came to talk
So interesting
With speech
While my mate walked
...with you
Alone, it seemed
Uninterested in me
He lodged with beasts
I preferred beauty
And the questions
Hanging on trees
...forbidden
I reached for fruit
You said nothing
As I communed
You are too
Companion to me
Though both doomed
...to death
The creature violated
Me, again and again
As I yelled your name
I knew you would come
For one purpose
To clothe violence in shame
...for being human
You abandoned me!!!!
You left me with judgment
And a prophecy that bound my body
To an earth filled with
My children's blood
Godless...no LOVE
No pain is greater....
Wait
Is that you
Wailing in the corner
With bound hands
As my roots are being
Bound to a barren ground
He's a liar...He's a freakin' liar
None of this is TRUTH
Daddy God's name is LOVE
And nothing can separate us...NOTHING!!!
Written by Trudy Schrader on 05-10-2024
Well my life was pretty good
Till Mom made me walk the goat.
And all I had to do it with
Was a piece of measly rope.
The reason for this tragedy-
Embarrassing,to say the least;
Our foolish goat had indulged herself
In a very gluttonous feast.
When dinner was served the other day
She swallowed more than chewed.
Eating more than the other goats;
A sickly amount of food.
We found her on the floor,
Stomach in distress.
Painfully bemoaning
Her self-inflicted mess.
So Mom decided a plan
To ease her stomach pain:
Every day I'd walk her
(And in the process go insane).
I harnessed her with rope
And tried to get her out.
The others kept escaping
Despite my every shout.
At last I got them in,
With my patient this removed.
Descending the goat shed stairs
Was the next thing I had to do.
I tried to lead her down
But she just stood there at the top.
Pushing and pulling didn't work-
It was like trying to move a rock.
So I picked up the stubborn thing
And brought her down myself.
Our goat had made it clear
That she would be no help
I brought her to a trot
And ran her several laps.
"Why am I her doing this?"
Is a question I'd often ask.
I restrained her many attempts
To wander around and forage.
Dining on toxic plants
Was a habit I had to discourage.
She then became uninterested,
Proceeding to lie down.
In spite of my tugs and pulls
She stubbornly held her ground.
I had to haul her up
Despite her loud complaints.
I tied her to a tree
And left her thus restrained.
I heard her bleats for help
But didn't regret a thing.
My patience was out the window-
Too late for sympathy.
A whole week,I did this,
To help that infernal goat.
By the end of the ordeal
I was starting to lose all hope.
Our dear goat is fine now;
She's no longer in the red.
I've had enough of watching goats;
I'd rather watch chickens instead.
A welcome sight the lights ahead - like misty globules on ink black foam
The billboard elicits a sense of foreboding - Welcome to the Midnight Bazaar
A lack luster moon adds to the mystery – nervously I enter to ask my way home
A familiar song plays in the somewhere, the name eludes me - how bizarre
Somberly dressed people scurry past- eyes focused on illuminated screens
Refusing contact, shoving past rudely as I ask where this place would be
One of them in riddles tells me - this is home - the place to be it seems
I wonder if the scales of reality have tipped in favor of insanity
A stall arouses my curiosity and I look as a butcher of sorts places
Bleeding hearts getting desired effect - starts a pushing jostling frenzy
Uninterested in the clowns on stilts with their painted morbid faces
Children walk with sullen looks - expressionless eyes that fail to see
Crowds clamor to buy sea food - how absurd - especially as a smell of decay prevails
Fresh produce on sale with dyed color bleeding and truffles of mud is there something amiss
A man wanders around with passports on offer - Buy yourself a Life - his sign displays
Relief at last - a stall with books and maps – here is my escape from this tainted Abyss
This God forsaken place is not where I wish to stay
And I must strive to leave it before the light of day
An exorbitant sum I pay eager to escape his cloying breath, his black toothed smile
A commotion at the far end - some sort of bidding - curiously I venture courage giving me wings
A sign proclaims ‘Souls For Sale’- in rage I scream ‘you cannot sell souls - This is so Vile ‘
Dark soulless eyes in chalk white faces – Bore right through me – Look right through me
I run screaming, falling, clawing the map that shows all roads lead back to this Hell - I scream
Waking myself - knowing the name of that song still in my head - Shaking from this macabre dream
Footnote:
This was not meant to be a pretty poem. It exaggerates the state of a world that has seemingly lost its focus and empathy. Let's not let this happen
Take a bit of Dean Kontz, Stephen King and the unnatural things going on with food enhancements and you have the stage set for a macabre nightmare!
Mera and Reva go out for walks
Enjoying morning sun on their furry, soft backs
Sniffing and smelling sidewalks and bushes
Taking time to keep track of visited creatures’ details
Morning breeze and chirping birds,
Smells of tulips and spring flowers
Give little Mera powerful adrenalin rush
Her jumping and spinning with excitement stalls the walk from continuing onward
Looking forward to finding her favorite treasure of hidden tennis balls
Reva waits patiently with uninterested look for Mera to be composed and calm
Few minutes of vigorous bouncing carries on the march
Along with sites of some big and small walking dogs
Little Mera stops and watches them with curiosity
Reva pays no attention, keeps walking with dignity
Puddle of collected mossy water makes Mera enthusiastic once more
Helps me learn to enjoy the moment by her cheerful dance of hops and twirls
Smell from nearby big bush attracts Reva’s attention suddenly
Her forceful tugs and pulls take us to that direction promptly
With wagging tail and nose deep down in the bush
She pulls out a tennis ball with victorious look
Loads of fun and amusement conclude our two mile morning stroll
Bring contented, happy pups back home to relax and roll
I went back to my childhood home.
To recite a few secondhand lines at a first-rate funeral
to try and hold up the survivors' bones.
A half century is a long time to be away from home.
Everything is off, smaller, colder, shadows in children's places.
I was surprised to see a new serf occupying my childhood home.
Most of the climbing trees were gone along with birdsong.
I rode around my old town with my most recent soulmate.
She's uninterested in my ghosts; she just wants something to eat.
I continued with the tour of the sad and pathetic.
"This is where I had my first six-pack.
In the bushes with the bad girls aside the railroad tracks.
The beer was warm and stolen and tasted really bad.
We used to throw stones at the cars that were piggybacked."
One day the train got revenge, gobbled up my puppy...
He was a curly-headed ball of happiness...his name was Fuzzy.
He squeezed under the fence; or somebody left the gate open...
Quality control was never quite up to snuff in our home.
I paid the karmic train with compounding interest.
"Those apartments used to be a green field
where we used to play baseball.
That law office used to be a candy store.
I guess you could say it went from sweet to bitter. Hà ha."
It's nice to see that the ice cream parlor survived
Although the service with a smile did not.
In short, you could fit my childhood into a half-mile square.
An 8-block nest, smaller but sweeter than the Vatican.
It was in high school when life got serious
Some kids overdosed,
some got pregnant
Some did heroin
Some just settled for hash
Some had big dreams
Some simply snapped.
For most, it was our first taste of death.
A few ran away to make a bigger mess.
Life turned from golden ribbons into tangles of stress.
Struggling with the undertow of tomorrow.
The chaining then slaying of innocents.
They say you can never go back.
The gears of time are without consciousness.
Time will not hesitate to chew your heart up.
Sacrifice you to the scrub of responsibility, measured fun.
Time invites melancholy, resists nostalgia. -
It's fond of guiding memories
onto train tracks, warm beer and dead puppies.
Cosmic dust of color, spread across the marble table,
where you, with sacred grace, draw esoteric circles,
watching me as I prepare the canvas for painting,
laughing softly, slipping your powdered finger into my ear,
like a secret sign of our mystical initiation.
Surprised, I was caught in the alchemy of creation,
gathering colors like precious relics,
unaware of my surroundings,
of your gesture approaching like a gentle incantation;
I laugh too, realizing the intimacy of your sacred dust-covered finger,
which seems uninterested in my art,
but I continue to mix the pigments in water,
watching the miracle of colors blossoming,
our senses tuning to the scent of earth and mystery.
Thus begins the cosmic tango of dryness becoming wet,
a touch of salty taste, colors binding in an astral glide,
until inseparable unity is formed, profound warmth in union,
inevitable growth, pigmentation seeking release.
But not yet, oh no...
First, there must be a pause, a relaxation of thickened magic,
delayed contemplation, then the pressure of my hands,
pressing, shaping, pressing, forming the essence.
We sip our wine, speak softly, anticipating the inevitable drying,
saying to each other: "We are ready for the final phase:
the inspiration that binds, merges disparate colors,
ultimately yielding to the delicate, inevitable finish",
Later, as the canvas dries, as it must in the ritual,
we cannot resist nibbling bits of still-hot inspiration,
dipped in the melted butter of art, feeding each other,
transcending words, finding new ways to see
one another, in ritual light.